


That’s Like Fucking Someone Who’s Been Slipped Ecstasy

by DragonBandit



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha!Otabek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gentleman alphas, M/M, Post-Canon, Roughly equal gender roles, Tag your dubcon, omega!yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonBandit/pseuds/DragonBandit
Summary: Yuri is in heat for the first time. Otabek doesn't help him through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So i've noticed that in the ABO tag for this pairing, there seems to be a very prevalent trope of Yuri going into heat and then almost immediately falling on Otabek's dick. This struck me as being a little uncomfortable because the whole point of heat is that it removes a lot of a characters ability to think. Which, well is basically like having sex with someone who's been drugged.   
> It was especially uncomfortable because a lot of the fic had Otabek put up a token protest of "Yuri we should maybe not do this, we haven't talked about it and you are clearly not in your right head" before very suddenly being completely okay with the whole sex thing that is happening right then.   
> Plus the fact that a lot of the time the two characters weren't in any sort of relationship where sex was on the table.   
> Plus the fact that it was Yuri's first heat. 
> 
> Well, to me that was uncomfortable things mounted on uncomfortable things. (that also felt really extroadinarily out of character, but that's another debate really). And none of this was tagged as dub-con. To a certain extent I wasn't sure if the author was aware that they were writing dubcon. 
> 
> When I'm upset I tend to write about it. Then this happened.
> 
> First thing I've written on YOI. Crit welcome

Yuri presents as an omega at the worst time physically possible: in a hotel, surrounded by the top figure skaters of the world. He’s eighteen years old, late by anyone’s standards to be presenting as any secondary gender, let alone one that usually manifests early. 

The parts of his body that aren’t on fire are doused in cold horror. There’s no way he can compete now; not when his legs can barely support his weight and there’s the horrible, disgusting feeling of slick working it’s way down his legs. The entire room stinks. After this is over Yuri is going on suppressants for the rest of his  _ life _ , side effects of it be damned. 

He does not want to have to throw away yet another gold medal because his body decided to betray him of all things. 

Yakov has already phoned and pulled him out of the contest. Yuri hadn’t shown up to morning practice so obviously something was wrong with him. Or he was being a lazy brat who needed a good yelling to take the one thing that his life revolves around more seriously. Yuri had practically whimpered into the phone; a memory that he is desperately hoping heat will take with it when it leaves his body alone. 

Already he can feel parts of his sanity slipping away. He’s so hard, so hot and wet and desperate and every second he spends in bed is another second his willpower to not rut against the sheets like an idiot slips away.

The radio chatters with the results of the competition that Yuri should be competing in. Minami is winning gold, tailed frantically by JJ and Phichit. Every so often that announcer segues to talk about how disgusting Katsudon and Victor are fawning over their latest protege.

The only good thing about this entire situation is that Yuri is blessedly alone. No Katsudon to worry about his wellbeing, no Victor being an asshole and reminiscing about his first heat, no Minami being over enthusiastic about how now they can talk about how they’re so similar. No alphas sniffing around just waiting for Yuri to slip up and beg for their knot. 

...No Otabek to card strong yet gentle fingers through his hair and fill up the gaping emptiness inside of Yuri and make everything okay again for the rest of forever. On second thought Yuri hates everything about this situation. As a whole, in it’s entirety. Heat is the fucking  _ worst _ . 

Somewhere between the drone of the radio and the lava pretending to be blood, Yuri slips out of lucidity into fever dreams. 

Light sleep is broken by the sound of the keycard chime of a door unlocking. Yuri’s eyes snap open, taking in the blank walls of the hotel room, the bed next to his own, the door opening. Otabek standing in the frame with huge, wide eyes. 

“Beka,” Yuri breathes. Whatever sanity he gained from sleep flies out of the window. Heat knows what it wants and all of Yuri agrees wholeheartedly with the idea. 

“Yura.” Otabek says. “Yura you pulled out of the competition?” 

“Mmmm.” It takes a bit of thinking, but Yuri gets his legs sorted enough that he can teeter towards Otabek. He falls gracelessly halfway there, but Otabek darts forwards to catch him so Yuri doesn’t have a horrible accident with the ground. 

“Best friend,” Yuri slurs against Otabek’s chest. He’s always admired how Otabek fills out his clothes. All broad and masculine and undeniably alpha somehow. Heat makes him nuzzle against the soft jersey of Otabek’s T-shirt. Yuri can smell the slight hints of sweat borne from skating that cling even though Otabek has changed clothes since then. “You’re fantastic. Did you kick JJ’s ass for gold?”

“You’re not okay,” Otabek says slowly. His hand goes up to Yuri’s head, tentatively pressing the back of his palm against Yuri’s forehead. “Are you sick? You’ve got a fever.”

“‘M in heat.” Yuri says. “Stupid alpha. Can’t you smell it?” He shifts his hips against Otabek’s pointedly. 

There’s a pause. Long enough that Yuri looks up with narrowed eyes. Otabek’s face is shuttered, closed down hard enough that Yuri can’t tell what’s happening in his head. The only clue is the wider than usual eyes, and the way that the dark brown iris is a thin ring around the blown wide pupil. “Beka?”

Otabek continues to not say anything. Rude, Yuri thinks, but he can deal with this. Otabek goes silent for lots of things, Yuri being in heat can just be another one of those. Anyway it’s not like he needs his ears to smell the arousal lifting off of Otabek to go straight through Yuri’s head. If Yuri had to pick one thing to smell for the rest of his life it would be this: Otabek, and heat, and arousal and all that it promised. He drops his head again, inhaling deeply once his nose is pressed to Otabek’s chest. There’s a new wave of slick travelling down his legs, but Yuri finds that he doesn’t hate it quite as much now. 

“Beka, you should fuck me.” 

“...Ah.” Otabek says. His hand trembles against Yuri’s forehead. “I suppose that is what you would want right now.” 

“You want to,” Yuri points out. “I can smell it.” He inhales again. A moan slips out of his mouth.

“Can you walk?” 

Yuri can barely stand. His legs feel like separate entities, not attached to his body in the slightest. “Nope. Carry me.” 

Otabek stills, and does. For a glorious four seconds Yuri basks in the feeling of strong arms around him, his feet off the floor, perfect for wrapping his legs around Otabek’s hips and feeling the matching hardness there. 

Then Otabek sets him down on the bed, gently disentangles Yuri’s legs, kisses him on the forehead and practically sprints to the door. 

“Wait,” Yuri says, “Wait, Beka what? Where are you going?” His legs still don’t work, but Yuri rallies. He has the eyes and demeanor of a soldier dammit, his body is not going to stop obeying him now. By the time he gets to the door it’s closed. And locked. Yuri’s keycard is in the pocket of his hoodie, on the other side of the room now. Too far for his trembling legs, especially when Yuri has no idea where Otabek is running to. Other than away from him, far far away fuck. Fuck does Otabek really find him that disgusting? 

Yuri had been sure that Otabek had wanted him. Had been sure that he’d smelt arousal and felt Otabek’s dick hard against his stomach. But Otabek isn’t here, in Yuri’s bed. Otabek isn’t here with his gentle hands and soft eyes and really fucking amazing cock that would feel so great buried inside of Yuri right about now. 

He curls up against the door. There’s no point going back to bed, and no point finding the energy to do anything else. Everything hurts, rejection and heat and desperation. The first tear falls, and soon all Yuri can taste is salt water as he gasps and sobs around the now gaping hole in his chest where his alpha should be. 

He knows what he felt, and the want hurts. 

“Beka,” he says, like saying the name will make the man come back. “Beka. Beka please. Please I want you so bad. Please come back, I’m sorry.” Yuri’s ear is pressed to the door. Wood offering the barest of comfort simply by being not the temperature of the sun. 

On the other side of the door, there’s a soft sound. “I’m sorry, Yura.” 

Instantly, despair is replaced with the agonising cocktail of anger and hope, “What the fuck are you doing there?” Yuri practically screams. “Why did you leave, why aren’t you in here with me?”

Otabek, because there’s no one else who says Yuri’s name quite like that, with quite that accent, makes another agonised sound. “I’m not coming in there.” 

“Why not?” hope hops it’s way out of Yuri’s chest. The gaping emptiness of rejection making a home in it’s stead. And he knows what he felt, goddammit. “Is--is there someone else? Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then why?” 

“Because you’re in heat.” Otabek says. “And we haven’t ever talked about anything like this before.”

“I’m talking about it now.” Yuri shifts, uncomfortable and knowing there’s no way to make himself comfortable without moving away from Otabek. Not an option. Through the heat haze he tries to cling back to sanity. “I want you. Get in here, fuck me.” 

“You’re in heat. Yuri no. I’m not having sex with you while you’re drugged.” 

“Why the fuck not?”

There’s a silence. “Because I don’t want to.”

“You want me. Don’t lie; I felt it,” Yuri points out. “I want you. You should fuck me.” 

“Having sex with you right now would be like having sex with someone who’s been slipped ecstasy,” Otabek says. His voice layers with the unmistakable tone of an alpha pushed to his absolute limits, “Yura no. I won’t. Please stop asking.” 

“But I want you to.” Yuri mutters mutinously. He breathes through his mouth, desperately trying to get enough air to think around the fire in his body. “Aren’t you meant to be all dashing and shit? Sweep me off my feet and knot me as soon as I beg for it?” 

Otabek laughs slightly. “you’ve been watching too many bad movies, Yura. If I did that I’d be a rapist, and you would have every right to murder me.” 

“I don’t want to murder you.”

“You’ve made it clear what you want to do with me,” Otabek agrees. 

“...It hurts,” Yuri admits. He knows that he would never admit this to anyone else.  “I want you so bad, Beka.” 

“It’s heat,” Otabek says. “If you still want this after, then tell me when you’re not in heat.” 

“But--” Yuri clamps his jaw shut. “Sorry.” He wants to be good, and he knows that this is another part of heat. His instincts wanting to be the model mate so that whichever alpha deigns to knot him will want to mate him as well. He tries again. “Do you promise?”

“Promise what?”

“That you’ll fuck me next time. If I tell you I want it when I’m not like this.” 

“I promise.” Otabek says. “Whatever you want, Yura, I promise. Except for going into that room right now.” 

“Stay with me? Out there?” 

He can feel lucidity slipping away with every second, and the thought of being alone in that emptiness is too terrifying to confront head on. Even for Yuri Plisetsky, eyes of a soldier. He doesn’t want his alpha to leave. He doesn’t want Beka to leave him. At least let him have Otabek’s voice, if he can’t have the rest of him. 

“I’ll stay.” Otabek says. “I promise I’ll stay.” 

“Holding you to that,” Yuri says, meaning both promises. 

“I know,” Otabek says, meaning both of them as well. 

Heat grips Yuri again, and pulls him under. 


End file.
